


Movement

by CallMeElle



Series: Your Love Captured Me [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, POV Barry Allen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Smut but like Intimate Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeElle/pseuds/CallMeElle
Summary: “I love you,” she tells him, and whatever doubts Barry has ever had are swiped away at the warm feel of her naked body draped half on top of his. “I love your kindness, your devotion.” Her smile becomes the epitome of dirty. “I love how you fuck me.”“Jesus Christ,” Barry coughs, but it’s a laugh too, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her to him. “I love you too, Iris.”(It's literally just some smut, y'all)
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West
Series: Your Love Captured Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744417
Comments: 22
Kudos: 139





	Movement

Movement 

_i still watch you when you’re groovin’_

_as if through water from the bottom of a pool_

_you’re movin’ without movin’_

_and when you move, i’m moved_

Barry wonders how he’s gotten here, wonders what deity he should be thanking for the vision before him. He thinks back on his life--back to playing in dirt and building volcanoes, fumbling past cheerleaders and staying so late at the library that he got kicked out--and he questions what good deed put him here.

Iris is walking toward him, nearly naked, her body encased in mere scraps of dainty fabric. He clenches his fists, stifling some primal urge to rip them from her body. She is glorious, her brown skin like copper, warm and lustrous. He cannot decide where to look first or longest: he cannot decide if her legs need his gaze, long despite her shorter stature, trim ankles and shapely calves; or should it be the thick weight of her thighs, the gentle slope of her hip, the plump meat of her ass that he can’t see but can visualize, can almost touch, can almost taste; or maybe the deep curve of her waist deserves his praise, her smooth belly, the perfect teardrops of her breasts.

He decides to settle on her face: lush lips, sparkling eyes, a halo of dark hair, reminding him of her divinity. Her chocolate eyes catch his and the corners of her mouth lift up, playful and simmering and always with that hint of love that lives in her, in them.

It makes something warm and brilliant flood through him, seeing her like this. It’s been three years, three years since he'd first seen her standing in the corner of their university library, struggling to reach a book a few shelves too high. Before he’d managed to gather the courage to go to help her, he’d been _mesmerized_ by her, her long, straightened hair swinging at the middle of her back as she strained, one arm reaching, the rest of her taught body on display in the simple floral print dress. Even in her conflict, there was an inherent grace about her, a near musical quality to her motions. 

He thought he’d been gobsmacked then. In their years together, she’d only become, become _more_ (more beautiful, more fascinating, more undefinable) _,_ and it blows his mind every single time that she still wants to be with him like this.

_you are a call to motion_

_there, all of you a verb in perfect view_

_like jonah on the ocean_

_when you move, i’m moved_

He feels anxious, and heated, and _hard._ He feels flushed. She settles him, flusters him too, makes the palms of his hands sweat. He wipes them on the thighs of his pajama pants, shifting a little in his seat as Iris walks closer to him. Her steps are easy as her red painted toes sink into the carpet. It’s not like she’s dancing for him, but her walk is languid, liquid, and it matches the faint song he hears in his head whenever he’s in her presence.

It’s like movement, her, the song. It’s a lyrical loop of emotion: the high wave of joy, of wonder, the kind he finds in the gleam of her eyes, the curve of her smile, her whispered words of ardor. It’s in the low thrum of heat that stews in her belly, in the swell of his sex, a near constant thing, impatiently waiting until he’s wrapped up in her.

When she settles into his lap, his hands automatically plant on her hips. She’s warm against him, her thighs pressed on either side of him, and he beams when she leans down to kiss his cheek.

“Hey,” she greets, her smile soft.

His own grin mirrors hers. “Hey,” he responds. He traces a finger along the outer edge of her panties, the lace delicate on the velvet of her skin.

“What’s all this?”

She knows what he’s talking about, the lace and the come-on and the way her fingers are trailing down the center of his bare chest. She gazes up at him.

“I missed you, today,” she says. Her voice is low, husky, gliding across his skin. 

“Oh?”

“Well, I miss you everyday,” she clarifies, “but I thought about you a lot.”

Their gazes are locked and one of his hands flex against her hip. The other draws a line along the edge of her underwear, tracing the pretty red fabric.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, because there is something stuck in his throat or he just can’t form whole sentences over his awe of her.

“Hmmm,” she nods. When Barry’s finger dips down the inside of her thigh, she shudders in his lap. 

“What did you think about me?”

His question is met with a grin, this one a little more mischievous.

“A lot, really.”

It makes Barry warmer, the way she says it, the way she looks, the way the halo of her curly hair reminds him that she is not mere mortal.

“Like?”

_when you move_

_i’m put to mind all that I want to be_

_when you move_

_i could never define_

_all that you are to me_

She reaches up and touches her fingers to his face, Barry savoring the action. Her soft hands trail along his jaw, up to his ear and back, before journeying down to his throat. He knows what she’s doing, connecting the moles on his face, tapping her fingers along the darker ones as she searches out the smaller, fainter, hidden ones.

“I thought about these moles,” she tells him, and her voice is a whisper of a song. “Tracing them with my fingers, my tongue.”

That last word is said with more than a hint of deviancy, but she doesn’t move to put her mouth on him. At least not you.

“I thought about your hands,” she says, and she grabs one of his with her own. He’s momentarily fascinated by the difference in them, the captivating brown of her skin next to the paler smoothness of his. Her hand fits neatly in his, her pale pink nails scratching lightly at his palm before she enterwines her fingers with his.

“What about my hands?” he wonders.

She arches her back. “The way they feel on me.”

_so move me baby_

_shake like the bough of a willow tree_

_you do it naturally_

_move me baby_

It’s instinctive, him touching her. He thinks she starts to grab his hand to press against her, but he’s already reaching for her. One hand he settles at the nape of her neck, beneath the soft tresses of her hair. She leans a little to the left, exposing the long column of her throat to him, and something a bit possessive shifts in his core, something that sees the way she swallows, that sees her unmarred skin, and begs for his mark, to proclaim to the world that she is his.

The hand at her waist squeezes, and then he pulls her to him, closer. She smells like coconut and shea butter and when he presses his face into the line of her neck, he inhales.

“What else did you think about?” he wants to know. He thinks of her all the time, so often that he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so in love with her.

He doesn’t actually wait for her response, though, before he asks, “did you think about my mouth?”

He presses a kiss to her throat, a timid sort of kiss that does little more than cause her to inhale sharply. He does it again, loving the way she leans into him, exposing the neck to him.

“Hmmm?” he urges as he does it one more time, before biting lightly at her flesh. She starts to squirm atop him, emitting another little gasp that comes from somewhere deeper. 

“Iris?” he traces a heart into her skin, making sure she feels the shape, and then he pulls the skin in to suck.

“ _Barry,”_ she hisses, the sound coming from her throat, low and guttural.

“Tell me,” he whispers,

“Yes,” is her moaned response. “I always think about your mouth.”

_you are the rite of movement_

_it’s reasonin’ made lucid and cool_

_i know it;s no improvement_

_when you move, i move_

It’s a calm night. Their screened window is open, warm air fluttering in past their white curtains. The normal hustle and bustle of the city seems almost non-existent, as Barry can only hear the faint murmur of sirens way off in the distance, the inconsistent glimpses of conversation.

Inside their loft, there is very little noise, except the sounds of them--Iris’s soft moans as he continues to touch her, Barry’s labored breathing as he tries to wait before he pushes her panties aside and plunges into her, their whispered words of lust.

Iris pulls back so that she can look at him for a moment. He tries not to stiffen under her gaze, always faintly worried that she’ll look at him for too long and come to her senses, that she’ll realize that someone as kind and as brilliant, _as fucking gorgeous_ , as her should be with someone like her, someone who is not Barry Allen.

She does not come to that realization, though. She leans in until her mouth is only a breath away from his and tells him, “I think about you kissing me.”

A corner of Barry’s mouth ticks up and he tilts his head to assess her.

“Kissing your mouth?” he wonders, tapping along where they had been still against the lace of her underwear on her hip. He moves it along to trace against the seam inside her thigh. “Or here?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her as he follows the fabric with the tip of his index finger, just barely touching her bare skin. Her eyes widen for a moment and then they close, the chocolate orbs momentarily hidden from his view. Her hips jerk, seeking more of him,but he keeps the touch minimal, drawing up the edge of one side of her panties, creeping down the other.

He whispers against her mouth, “do you think about me kissing your pussy, Iris?”

Her eyes fly open and the desire Barry sees so clearly, so potently, almost makes him pass out. He gives her something like a smile, and even he can tell that it’s borderline wicked because now all he can picture is her on the bed spread out before him, like a feast before him, as he buries his face between those lovely brown thighs and _eats._

“Because I do,” he says against her lips. “I think about it all the time. How pretty you are down there, how good you taste, what you look like coated in your own cum.”

“ _Fuck.”_ She licks her lips slowly, the action brushing her tongue against his own lips too.

“I was supposed to be seducing you,” she says, and there is a hint of pout mixed in with the soft timbre of her voice.

The smile he gives her this time is open and genuine. “I’m already seduced; I’m always seduced when I’m around you.”

_you’re s. polunin leapin’_

_or fred astaire in sequins_

_honey, you, you’re atlas in his sleepin’_

_and when you’re moved, i’m moved_

He stands with her in his lap, chuckling at the tiny yelp she makes at being picked up without warning. He takes her to their bed, lays her out on the overly soft cream colored comforter spread neatly on their king-sized bed. Barry watches her start to pull herself up, presumably to lie against the pillows, but he stops her.

“Wait. Take your lingerie off first. I want to see you naked.” 

She grins at him, as if this is the thing she’s been waiting for all night, reaching up to unhook her bra. The clasp is in the front and Barry is transfixed as her fingers make quick work of unfastening the clasp and then the bra falls open. Her breasts are literally perfect, the same even color except for the dark brown areola, nipples puckered and begging for his tongue. He only stares and waits in anticipation as her small hands reach for the dainty fabric settled on her hips. She slides the panties down her legs and she raises her hand to toss them wherever her bra has gone. 

“Nope,” he mutters, holding his hand out for them. She obliges, biting at her lip as he pockets them.

_when you move_

_i can recall something that’s gone from me_

He is surprised that he finds his pocket on the first try because she is wonderfully, gloriously naked before him and no matter how often he sees this view, he is always floored by her.

“Lay back flat,” he tells her and there is the slightest bit of command in his voice. Iris lifts an eyebrow but does as she’s told, falling back onto the bed, her halo of hair surrounding her. The sight is somehow both angelic and debauched and Barry’s half-hard dick stiffens to full mast against his thigh.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he says and she does immediately dropping her knees on either side of her hips. He can see how ready she is for him, already swollen and open, the pink of her glistening. Barry’s cock pulses and he groans, rubbing a hand down himself to stifle the feeling. He kneels at the edge of the bed and begins to crawl toward her.

“God, Iris, how are you so wet already?” he needs to know.

“It’s because I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she tells him, matter-of-fact, except for the slightest tremble in her voice.

_when you move_

_honey, i’m put in awe of something so flawed and free_

“Fuck,” he growls at her words. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not until you fuck me first,” she quips.

Barry pauses, blinks up at her face where she is all soft and sly and beautiful, all present in the curve of her smile. The closer he moves, the more he can smell her arousal, the intoxicating scent of her, sweet and heady, wholly ambrosial. He fits himself between her thighs, as her legs brackett his shoulders, and he lifts his gaze to her once more. She’s watching him, like she always does when he’s kneeling before her, eyes hooded, pupils dilated, white teeth biting into her plump bottom lip. Her face speaks of desire and love, and all those things before and after and in-between; everything he feels for her swells ten-fold.

He focuses back on the treat before him and he leans in until his nose touches her. She smells so good that he closes his eyes in ecstasy for a second. Then he reaches out to her, clamping a hand on the inside of her thigh to spread her further. With his free hand, he opens her to his view, widening her labia with the tips of two of his fingers. He sees her body clench around nothing and he can’t wait to feel the move when he's sliding thick and hard into her.

Now, he runs delicate fingers along her lips, reacquainting himself with the feel of her. Her moans are faint above him, more like whimpers as she wants for something more substantial.

She’s so patient, aware of his need to praise her and thank whoever or whatever that keeps her here with him. Which is why, instead of dipping his fingers in and out of her, instead of waiting until she’s dripping, wet enough for him to play in her juices, he moves in and drags his tongue through her slit.

“Bar-” Iris tries, raising her hips a little, and he presses a kiss on her thigh, smiling on her skin. 

He licks her again, into her, gathering the taste of her on the tip of his tongue. He moves inside of her, starts to eat her in earnest, enjoying the way she rocks her hips on his mouth. It’s something like a dance, him inside of her, a lilting pirouette, a graceful grande jeté, her moans the song that he dances to.

He goes in deeper, stilling her writhing hips with both of his hands on her ass.

“ _Ooohhh_ ,” she lets out a long cry, and Barry decides he needs to hear that sound over and over again. He grips her a little tighter and brings her flush with his mouth. His nose nudges against her clit and he smiles at her sharp intake of breath before he plants an open-mouthed kiss against her lips. That blessed sound happens again, a long, high-pitched “ _ooohhh”_ again, and Barry sucks at her lips, licking down the whole of her pussy before closing his own lips around her.

She’s so much wetter than she was before, enough that she starts to drip down the sides of his mouth. He hums into her, licks his own lips against her body, and dives back in. for the first time, he touches his tongue to her clit, pressing the flat of his tongue against the swollen nub.

_so move me, baby_

_shake like a bough of a willow tree_

_you do it naturally_

_move me, baby_

Iris bucks her hips as much as she can. Her body is still in his grip so all it does is bring her even closer to his face, his mouth. Her hips don’t stop, though; she keeps grinding on his face, riding his tongue, her hand planted firmly in his hair.

He alternates between spelling out his love for her inside her body--revelling in the taste of her, the feel of her--and sucking on her clitoris. He’s consumed by her, so overwhelmed by her. Her moans drift up to his ears, her fingers pull at his hair, his eyes and his nose and his mouth all full of her. He’s so hard against his thigh that it takes everything in him not to palm himself to completion in his own pants.

When she comes, he thinks it's a surprise to them both. One minute, she’s almost literally fucking his mouth and the next, she’s screaming his name, “ _Barry”_ coming out so high he barely recognizes her voice. He tongues her through it, cleaning up the cum that coats her sex.

He continues at her until he feels her physically push him away and then he’s kneeling between her legs on the bed, looking down at her while she lies half-curved on the bed, an arm swung across her face.

“Barry,” she mumbles, voice a little hoarse. “Fuck.”

She gazes at him, then, an easy smile on her face as she pointedly looks to where he’s straining against the thin gray cotton on his pants.

“My turn,” she says as she sits up. Briefly, he pictures her pouty lips wrapped around his dick and he thinks he loses time.

He shakes his head sadly. “As much as I love it when you suck me off,” he says, “if I even think too long about your mouth on me, I’ll come.”

“But…” she frowns. “I had this whole thing planned. I bought that get-up and…”

Barry gives her an adoring grin as she babbles on while he crawls back toward her.

“...and I was gonna rock your world, Barry Allen,” she finishes, just as he covers her body with his.

“You looked gorgeous in that,” he says, pressing lightly on her belly to guide her on her back.

“Yeah?” she beams as she follows his silent order, grinning at him like he’s just told her all of the secrets to the universe. His heart clenches in his chest, and then expands with emotion that threatens to bubble up and spill over.

He follows her down, his hands on either side of her head stopping him from falling all the way on top of her.

“Yeah,” he plants a sweet kiss on her mouth. “And you always rock my world, baby, by just being you.”

She rolls her eyes, but he imagines there's heat flooding her cheeks.

“You’re so good to me,” she whispers and she leans up to give him a deeper kiss.

_so move me, baby_

_like you’ve got nothing left to prove_

_and nothin’ to lose_

_move me, baby_

He knows that he tastes like her but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to delight in it, licking at his lips before sucking his tongue into her mouth.

Their first kiss had been an awkward mess of lips and tongue, Barry so nervous after their first date that he’d have not been surprised if he’d never seen her again. But then she’d pulled away from him, an understanding sort of smile on her face. She’d told him to relax, _“Don’t be nervous, Bear, it’s just me,”_ because somehow, only after knowing each other for mere hours, there had been something _real_ between them, something tangible, something palpable, something that brings them to this moment here.

He kisses her like he means it, reaching up to hold her by her chin. His thumb and index finger rub softly on her skin as he coaxes her open, relishing the feel of her velvet tongue brushing his. She closes her eyes, her long eyelashes resting on the top of her cheeks. He nips at her bottom lip, savors the moan that escapes so openly, presses her into the mattress because he suddenly needs to be close to her.

He moves to kissing her cheek, her throat, starting with a smooth piece of skin right under her jaw that makes her curl herself around him. Her hands are smooth on his back, deliberate in the way she runs her fingers down his spine, the way she knows he likes. She taps a cadence on him, alternating between using the pads of her fingertips and her nails, traveling up the length of his back and down again.

She brings her knees up to hold his waist, and her sex rubs his. Even through his pants, there is no mistaking how wet she is again, how ready and willing she is for him. Barry groans into her ear, biting down on the lobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. “ _Fuck,_ Iris.”

Her light giggle in his ear is punctuated by the tracing of her tongue along the outer shell. “That’s all I’ve been wanting you to do, Barry.”

_ooh, ooh, ooh_

_oh baby, oh baby_

_move like gray skies_

_move like birds of paradise_

_move like an odd sight come out at night_

They are synchronized after that, a dance perfected through missteps and practice, through comfort, and intimacy, through that basic element of lust that permeates them as a couple. Barry has never felt as wanted as he does with Iris; more important than that, though, Barry has never wanted a woman more than Iris, has never felt heated in the way she makes him feel, has never felt such unprecedented pleasure at just being _with_ her, before he even makes his way inside of her.

Iris helps him kick his pants off, probably tossing them where her underwear has gone, and then he’s back between her legs, his own sex hard and seeking her wet heat. He reaches down to finger her, caressing her wet labia with his index and middle fingers, sliding into her in shallow strokes, playing in her slick, coating his fingers with her.

“Baby,” she whispers, stalling him by grabbing a hold of the back of his neck and blinking up at him. Her eyes are darker than normal, candy colored irises tinged black with arousal. “You keep teasing me.”

One side of his mouth curls. “I’m just trying to make sure you feel good,” he says.

She rocks her hips on his hand and breathes heavily out of her mouth. “I do,” she assures him, “and I’d feel so much better if you were inside me.”

Her voice is suddenly huskier, the way it sounds in the middle of the night when she wakes up wanting him. Her hand is on him too, her soft palm circling the base of his length. 

“ _God_ _,_ ” he breathes and he thinks he grows in her hand.

He doesn’t need much more than that. He pulls his fingers out of her and then rubs her juices along the head of him. Her hand is still on his neck as he leans down to plant a relatively chaste kiss on her lips, little more than a peck, but she falls into it, falls into him, and with another kiss, this one longer, more open-mouthed, a little more tongue, Barry pushes into her.

Barry thinks that the first slide might be his favorite part of sex. As wet as she is, she clenches around him when he slides into her, hot and so tight that his eyes roll in the back of his head. For a moment, he thinks of their first time. It’d been an easy night, like this, lying on the couch in his old apartment as episodes of _Bob’s Burgers_ played softly on the large screen television, more background noise than anything else. A bottle of wine had sat between them, and by then they’d been comfortable enough to just take swipes from the bottle, one after the other. They’d talked, and now, Barry can’t even say what about, but he knows he’d been enamored by the things she had to say, by the passion about her writing, by the conviction she has in telling the truth.

He doesn’t know how, but they’d ended up naked on his sofa, Iris in only a bra, her dress on a lamp in the far corner of the room, her panties hanging off one ankle as he made his way between her thighs and buried his face in her sweet heat. And later, she’d let him go all the way, something that still catches Barry by surprise, opening herself up for him. She’d been so eager, climbing on top of him and sliding down his dick in a way she knew would positively ruin him for anyone else.

He has been ruined, he thinks, as he pulls out until only his tip remains trapped between her slick walls. He’s been ruined and he loves it, loves everything about sliding back into her, just a little, and then a little more, and then enough that she tilts her head back and drops her jaw, eyes closing in pleasure.

He pushes in to the hilt, his balls slapping against the bottom of her ass, and they both mumble some words or they both moan or they otherwise remind each other that this is home. He stills, just for a second, because he loves to see her like this. He thinks this is when she might be at her most vulnerable, her most open. She seems more accessible like this, the clear expression on her face, her gorgeous breasts bared to him, the way her pink walls grip him, granting him passage to her love.

He grinds into her, rotating his hips, keeping himself fully seated in her as he moves. She meets his thrusts, rocking her hips in tune with his.

“ _Fuck, baby,”_ one of them whispers, and Barry doesn’t think he knows who. It might have been her, the stuttering moans that she emits against his ear; it might have been him, because she feels like goddamn heaven, she feels like _his,_ and Barry can’t imagine being anywhere else but fucking into her.

Her hands are everywhere, his are too. He touches at her face, her chest, pinching at her nipples until she cries out. She runs her hand down his chest, scratching along the ridges of his abdomen, tipping until she grabs a hold of his sides with both hands. He likes when she touches him there, how her fingers seem to know just how to affect him, how they know exactly where he needs to feel her, where it’ll make his stomach clench, his hips snap into her harder.

He does it now, snapping into her as he spins his hips, rocking into her in long, slow, deep strokes. She clutches at him, her nails digging into skin, and she mumbles vaguely intelligle words, _“Barr...fuck...you feel so...babyyyy”_ and he closes his eyes to the sensation, dropping his head onto her forehead.

She uses the opening to kiss him, wet, sloppy kisses that stutter his hips and knocks his rhythm off and she doesn’t seem to care because she only wraps herself firmly around him. It frees him, just a little, and he grips both of the full globes of her ass cheeks. The movement spreads her, and he slides deeper, _just a little bit more,_ “fuuuucccckkk,” _just a little bit more,_ and Barry finds that he cannot breathe.

_move me, baby_

_shake like a bough of willow tree_

_you do it naturally_

_move me, baby_

She is all that he can think about, all that he can see, all that he can _feel._ He presses a hand around the base of her throat, only hard enough that she gasps, and her eyes flutter close, though her lips stay parted. It spurs him on, courts him, if you will, asks that he goes _deeper,_ and _harder,_ and _“oh, my god, right there barry,”_ in a way that nothing else does. It’s because he knows her, it’s because it’s his sole responsibility to make love to her, it’s because he’s spent hours and days and weeks learning just how to make her come.

It is slow this time, when she does. Her nails dig into his side and he speeds up, the wet _smack, smack,_ of his body driving into hers echoing in the air. He can hear the sound of them so cleanly, the vulgar, slippery sound of her pussy clenching his sex. Her grip is tight, nearly suffocating, like she has to squeeze, to clutch on to him because her hips won’t stop grinding and her chest won’t stop heaving, and she might literally die if she can’t release. He decides that that’s when she comes. 

She stills, everything about her stiffens except for her hips that keep chasing the rest of that feeling. She groans low, way low in her throat and Barry’s orgasm is triggered too, the warm, heavy feeling at the base of his dick. She bites his shoulder hard, she contracts her sex and they both tumble over the edge, holding on to the feelings of them.

_so move me, baby_

_like you’ve got nothing left to lose_

_and nothin’ to prove_

_move me, baby_

He decides that he wants this, he wants _her_ for this rest of his days. He wants her mouth pressing against his neck, muttering romantic little somethings into his skin. He wants the smell of her on him, the sweet of the coconut, the stimulating shea butter, the potent scent of her lust mixed with his.

He wants her smile, how quick she is with words to encourage, to incite, to _entice._ He wants the way she climbs out of bed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she does, and walking, still to the beat of the song of them, into the bathroom. He wants the way she comes out with her breasts bouncing against her chest, the curve of her waist that he dreams about, the warm wash cloth she uses to wash herself off of him. He wants the way that she climbs back into their bed and wraps her arms around him, settles her cheek on his shoulder and whispers to him.

_so move me, baby_

_shake like a bough of a willow tree_

_you do it naturally_

“I love you,” she tells him, and whatever doubts Barry has ever had are swiped away at the warm feel of her naked body draped half on top of his. “I love your kindness, your devotion.” Her smile becomes the epitome of dirty. “I love how you fuck me.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Barry coughs, but it’s a laugh too, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her to him. “I love you too, Iris.”

_move me, baby_

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I think I wrote this more for me than for y'all. But I really hope that, if you got to the end, you enjoyed it.  
> I've been on a recent Hozier kick and this story (and song) has been on repeat in my mind for a solid month now.
> 
> I should be updating Wicked Game (for those who read it) sooner rather than later. #SocialDistancing is going to give me a little more time. (Speaking of this, I hope y'all are being smart and safe. No, please be smart and safe. Think about everyone around you before you think about putting them in harm's way.)
> 
> As usual, y'all are really great for my ego and I really enjoy being able to share my stories with you. Comments fuel me.  
> (And excuse any typos.)
> 
> -Elle <3


End file.
